


A Cracked Violin(ist)

by ShazzyStuff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Lots of Angst, M/M, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Violin, Some Fluff, concerned john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShazzyStuff/pseuds/ShazzyStuff
Summary: The man's face was not visible but John imagined him frowning, deep in thought and concentration. It was odd how whenever Sherlock played gloomy music he always faced the window and never turned around. Always facing the window.





	

Violins were peculiar instruments. John had never really fancied them all that much. That was until he'd heard Sherlock play. Each musical piece was played with such precision yet sounded so free. It really was beautiful. John couldn't help but notice how the violin tended to mimic and portray the consulting detective's emotions at the time. Sure, there was the off moment where the music had little to do with how he was feeling but there was always something - however faint. The music today was soft yet travelled through the walls as though they were paper. It seemed…hopeless almost. 

Sherlock stood by the large living room window, the curtains drew back so as to let in the pale London light. His arms moved slowly, dragging the bow backwards and forwards across the strings to draw out long soulful notes. The man's face was not visible but John imagined him frowning, deep in thought and concentration. It was odd how whenever Sherlock played gloomy music he always faced the window and never turned around. Always facing the window. 

John found himself listening to the music with full and rapt attention. He didn't know if Sherlock knew this but that type of music always made him feel down. Whenever a musical piece was finished John tended to find himself with a deep frown set in stone or that his eyebrows had somehow knitted together. This piece was different though. It wasn't like the other down cast music he had played in the past. It was empty. Devoid of real emotion, almost as if it had no real idea as to why it was even being played in the first place. Notes were drawn out as if Sherlock was hanging onto them only to eventually drop and latch on to another. 

And then it changed. The shift in tone was alarming and made John cringe in his arm chair. The notes got faster and faster. More desperate. More pathetic. It sounded like a whiny child's tantrum transcribed into music. The sounds leaking through the flat became harsh and worn before quickly coming to a halt. 

John stared in shock. What on earth was that all about? Sherlock went to replace the bow back on the strings but there was a moment of hesitance that went by almost unnoticed. The violin and bow drooped and fell to Sherlock's side before he turned and swiftly brushed past John. "Sher-"  
The bedroom door shut with a snap as Sherlock hid behind it.

 

It had been a couple of hours and still the detective did not leave the bedroom. John had just finished cooking dinner for the night - which happened to be beans on toast - and gingerly made his way over to the bedroom door. He tapped softly and lightly. "Sherlock..?"  
"Not hungry" came the muffled reply. John sighed.  
"I haven't even said anything yet."  
"Well, what is it you want to ask me?" said a clearly irritated Sherlock.  
"Come for dinner?"  
Even though John couldn't see his face, he knew Sherlock was smiling in amusement. "But I'm not hungry" resisted Sherlock.  
"Come anyway?"  
There was a sigh and huff from the other side of the door followed by a distinct muttering that sounded very much like 'why would I have dinner if I wasn't hungry?' before it opened. John looked up into the porcelain face which held an ever so slightly annoyed smile.

When Sherlock had settled at the table he ended up picking at some toast because John had told him he needed to eat before he got any thinner. It's not my fault I'm too busy too eat, thought Sherlock sulkily. Every so often he caught John glance at him to check if he was eating so he made a great show of taking a bite of his toast. "So" said John after a while of waiting, "what was that all about?"  
Sherlock knew he was on about the incident with the violin and he felt a heat prickle up his neck. "I was thinking about a case" he said evenly, "just got carried away."  
"Oh okay" nodded John, smiling reassuringly, "as long as you're okay."  
The ends of Sherlock's lips quirked upwards as he glared a hole through his toast. By now it had gone stone cold.


End file.
